


Touched

by TreacleA



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hannibal is a Mess, M/M, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Will Graham Knows What He Wants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 16:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17186051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreacleA/pseuds/TreacleA
Summary: "When he’s finally done healing and the last dressing is removed, the last stitch cut away, Will tells Hannibal very plainly that he doesn’t want him to touch him again."





	Touched

**Author's Note:**

> _I'm between WIPs at the moment, hoping inspiration will strike again soon. In the meantime, here, have this sad angsty little Hannigram one-shot that will probably leave you feeling anxious and in need of a good dose of porn_ \- TA x

When he’s finally done healing and the last dressing is removed, the last stitch cut away, Will tells Hannibal very plainly that he doesn’t want him to touch him again.

There’s no ire in it, no trace of anger. If anything, his voice sounds understanding, and for some inexplicable reason that cuts far more deeply than his disgust or righteous rage ever would have. Controlling his expression and with his eyes carefully averted, the older man merely sets the scissors down on the sterile tray between them and then nods his assent.

       “Of course, Will. Whatever you’d prefer,” he says.

Inside though, he feels something he hadn’t even known was alive shrivel in upon itself and slowly start to blacken.

Their daily routine, which had become a thing so delightful to him, seems somehow tainted now. Rising early as he does, he still takes charge of breakfast, the making of coffee, but questions that had before seemed suffused with hidden warmth now fall from his lips like the striking of cold iron. 

       “Would you like an omelette this morning?”

Will’s expression hasn’t changed one iota. He still smiles at him easily, clear cloud-blue eyes steady on his as he answers,

       “That sounds great. Thanks. Do I have time to grab a shower first?”

And Hannibal knows that his reaction too is a duplicate: small nod, easy shrug.

       “It can wait until you’re done.”

From the outside, nothing has altered. They continue exactly as before - two singular entities on their parallel tracks, keeping perfect pace - only now, never drawing any closer than the span of a hand. 

When he thinks back, Hannibal isn’t sure how conscious he’d been of his touching of Will, he only knows that now he is _acutely_ so. If they’re both in the kitchen, he makes sure to stay on one side of the invisible line he has mentally drawn through the centre. When Will is in the bathroom, brushing his teeth or shaving, he finds something else to do until he hears the light pull that signals his departure. In the living room, where before they would often both occupy the couch in the evenings, he now uses the armchair. It’s just safer that way, more boundaried, even if it does provoke a look of bemusement from his house-mate when he comes to join him.

       “Aren’t you cold that far from the fire?”

       “No, not especially.”

       “I can pull it closer if you want?”

Hannibal lifts his gaze to fix on the other man’s face, and sees that he hasn’t mistaken his tone. Will’s sympathy picks away at the top layer of his scabbed, freshly healed skin, and cold anger rushes inside like floodwater.

       “Despite the severity of my injuries, I can assure you that I am now quite capable of moving an armchair.”

Will’s frown furrows his brow, and picking up the book he’d brought in to read, he steps back towards the doorway. 

       “If you want to be alone you only need to say. I’ll be in my room, if you need me.”

And he doesn’t need him. Not before, not ever. Hannibal Lecter has never needed anyone or anything. He is, and has always been, a planet with his own laws of physics and without satellites. It’s a mindset he attempts to reclaim now, but to his great frustration and confusion he seems utterly unable to. His hard won armour is an ill-fitting suit now, gaping at the seams and no longer affording him protection, and instead of calm and self-contained he feels _messy_ : emotions slopping out over the edges like a loosely held cup.

In the past, he would have killed someone to restore his equilibrium. Now though, he must find another outlet.

       “You’re sure you feel well enough to run on your own? There are other ways of building up physical strength you know?”

Will’s eyes again hold the same careful questions, ‘worry’ the lame-footed, unwanted cousin to the emotion Hannibal hates that he wants to see there.

       “Are you perhaps forgetting that I am a medical doctor?”

       “No,” Will chews on his bottom lip, the ghost of a smile hovering, “Also not forgetting you’re a stubborn son-of-a-bitch with a questionable relationship to physical pain.”

 He sighs, and - Hannibal can’t help but notice - seems to move a hand towards him before arresting it midway. 

       “What’s the big hurry all of a sudden anyway? What happened to ‘we have all the time in the world now Will’?”

Hannibal’s lip curls minutely back against his teeth,

       “Perhaps I have grown weary of how I am spending it,” he says.

Afterwards he’s not sure if he imagines the look of hurt on Will’s face, or whether he had merely mistaken surprise for something more complex. 

He runs for miles, long past the point he knows he should stop, until his muscles are burning and his lungs feel as if they’re filled with thorns. When he returns to the house, pale and painted with sweat, he straightens when he sees the figure stood in the doorway. He’s too far away to see his face, but the emotion written in the angle of Will's shoulders is unmistakable.

       “You’re angry with me.”

He’s showered now, and the heat of the water has stilled the shaking of his limbs somewhat. Even so, he feels strangely vulnerable when he finds Will in his room, sitting on the side of his bed. Weak in ways that he really doesn’t enjoy.

       “Are you afraid I’ll relapse, and you’ll be forced to care for me?”

Will lifts his gaze from the floor to look at him, challenging,

       “Who’d force me, Hannibal? You? You think I’d care for you out of guilt? Obligation?” He tilts his head, “Is that why you cared for me?”

Hannibal breathes out, and his lungs sparkle with pain.

       “No,” he says, “That is not why.”

Will’s eyebrows draw together, 

       “And yet you only ever touched me to clean my wounds. Stitch me up. Change my dressings,” his voice is soft and steady, “Excuses. Covering lies. Covering…what?” 

He draws himself up, and the expression Hannibal sees on his face is impossible. Soft and impossible and perilous,

       “Covering _what_ , Hannibal?”

Tectonic plates shift, and for maybe the first time in his life Hannibal is left without words. Reaching both hands out towards him, Will pulls at the fabric of his towel, gathers him towards him until he is pressed between his thighs, stomach flat against his lips. 

       “You think I want to be touched like that? You think I want your excuses?”

His mouth is a hot brand against his skin, then his lips and teeth are trailing a comet tail across his belly, nipping him, kissing, until Hannibal has to steady himself by knitting fingers through his hair.

       “You said…I,” and his breath stutters over the words, “I was not to touch you again.”

Will tilts his head back to look at him, his eyes shining. Reaching up, he grabs a fistful of Hannibal’s hair and pulls until he’s forced to fold himself downwards, finally coming to rest on his knees, breathless, between Will’s parted thighs. His breath flutters against his chin, as he softly presses the pad of his thumb to the side of Hannibal's mouth.

       “And since when did you pay the slightest attention to anything I ever ask you to do?” he says as he kisses him.

  

 

 

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> _Like this fic? Please consider commenting on it and making my day! And if you _ **really**_ wanna show some love, come follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Treacle_A) or on my [Tumblr](http://treacle-a.tumblr.com/), where I also makes Hannigram Manips for my [Insta](https://www.instagram.com/hannigrammanips) of the same name!_


End file.
